


Wheels Within Wheels

by Heavyheadedgal, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: A tricky case has Phryne stumped; as for Jack, he's got other problems on his mind...





	Wheels Within Wheels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whopooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/gifts).



> From the prompt: Jack has to try to keep Phryne from leaving Wardlow (or wherever they are) without telling her why, despite her protests and attempts to circumvent him. The reason can be serious or flimsy or anything in between.

Phryne stared at the ledger in front of her in frustration. Her latest case was not going well. Phillip Saunders was the only plausible suspect, but his financial records (which Phryne had "borrowed" from the crime scene) were spotless, giving no indication of the logical motive. Jack had borrowed the Hispano and returned to City South to question him further. Perhaps, Phryne thought, they should be looking more closely at his bookkeeper...

The sound of footsteps in the front hall caught her attention. Her staff had the day off and she had assumed she was alone in the house since Jack left. She popped her head through the parlour doorway to see Jack closing the front door behind him cautiously.

"Jack?” she asked. “Back so soon? Weren't you going to interview Saunders again?"

"Ah," Jack said, staring at Phryne. His hands fluttered nervously with his jacket lapels. "I was -- I mean, I am--I just forgot something." He walked quickly into the parlour, glancing around before picking up a pencil from the coffee table. 

"Oh. Well," said Phryne, a bit surprised. He came back for a pencil? It wasn't like Jack to be absentminded. But then, she felt a bit distracted herself. The stress of the case was getting to them both.

“Right, I’ll just be on my way—“he began. 

“Actually, Jack,” Phryne said, “I really think I ought to sit in on this interview after all. I'll just get my hat--"

"No!" Jack said abruptly. Phryne stared. "That is -- I appreciate your help Miss Fisher, but we don't want to frighten him into calling for his lawyer just yet. And Collins has asked to assist with Saunders’ interview,” he continued. “I think it would be good experience for him. I’d like to keep you in reserve, in case we don’t get anything useful today.”

Phryne supposed he had a point. Their best strategy at the moment was to lure Saunders into giving himself away. "Well, in that case, how about I drop you at the station before I return to the crime scene. Perhaps we've missed something."

She moved towards the coat rack to get her things. "Actually," Jack said, moving quickly in front of her, "It would be very helpful if you reviewed Saunders’ financial records for any irregularities."

"But I've already--"

"It's just -- it's our only lead, Phryne," Jack took her elbow and gestured to the parlour, where the ledger sat on the coffee table. "And," he paused, his voice a smooth low rumble, “you know how I depend upon your powers of observation." 

Persuaded, in spite of herself – they couldn’t hold Saunders for questioning much longer without more solid evidence -- Phryne relented. "True. I suppose I could telephone the station if I find anything."

"Good idea. Take your time.” As Jack walked out the front door, Phryne poured herself a drink at the sideboard. Perhaps a little alcoholic fortification might help her crack this tricky case.

10 minutes later, Phryne looked up at the sound of a crash coming from somewhere in the house.

"Mr. Butler?" she called, getting up and moving into the hallway. "Dot?" Nothing was disturbed in the foyer, or the dining room. She crossed to the kitchen, but it wasn't Mr. Butler she found crouched before the storage closet, its contents strewn on the floor. A broom –the source of the crash – rolled slowly across the floor.

"Jack?" Phryne wondered. "What on earth are you doing? I thought you'd gone back to the station!"

Jack looked at her, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to explain himself. He held a spanner in his hand, a tool box spilled open at his feet.

Phryne crossed her arms, glaring. "I happen to be a highly-regarded detective, Inspector, and my instincts are telling me that you’ve been trying to keep me in the house. Maybe you would care to explain why you've snuck into my kitchen, and created a mess."

Jack sighed, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "You'd better come and see for yourself."

"This should be interesting," Phryne muttered, following him out the kitchen door. 

Jack led her down the street, to the corner, where she saw the Hispano leaning awkwardly against the curb, next to the red raggers’ cab. Bert was cradling his wrist in his hand, while Cec seemed to be trying to swallow a laugh. The Hispano’s wheel was bent at an unhealthy angle—hence the need for the spanner, presumably. It also had a large scrape in the fender. 

Phryne gasped. "Bert! Cec! What happened?!" She stared at her automobile. "The Hispano!"

"Miss Fisher, I can explain--" Jack began. 

"Law and Order here is too good to look where he's going!" Bert said.

"You were taking that corner far too quickly---" Jack started.

"Is anyone injured?" asked Phryne, interrupting their argument. Her hands reached up to examine Jack's head with a nurse's practiced skill.

"Just a bump," he admitted, sheepishly. He rubbed his temple.

She pushed back his hair, pressing his skin. "Does that hurt? Are you dizzy?"

"It's not the first bump on the head I've received, Miss Fisher," he grumbled. "And likely not the last, either."

"Oi!" barked Bert. "What about us proles? Walking wounded here!" 

"Yes, very serious," Phryne said wryly, examining his wrist. "I'm sure a finger or two of Scotch will mend it in no time." She nodded in the direction of the Wardlow. Bert and Cec grinned and hurried toward the front walk.

"Phryne, I’m truly sorry about your automobile," Jack said.

"Oh Jack, it's only paint. No lasting harm done." She took his arm and led him back toward the house. She looked at him shrewdly. "Trying to dispose of the evidence, were you?"

"Not my finest moment," Jack admitted. "I only wanted buy some time to repair the damage to the Hispano -- I feel terrible about it."

“You should feel more terrible at your paltry attempt at subterfuge, Inspector,” Phryne laughed. 

Jack had the good grace to blush beet red with embarrassment. “If you let me know the cost of the damage, I will of course pay for repairs—“

“Oh, I can think of a better means of repaying me,” Phryne said archly.

A line of worry appeared between Jack’s brows. “Such as?” 

“ _I_ will interview Saunders, today,” Phryne grinned. “And no more comments about _my_ driving skills.”

Jack smiled and shook his head. “As you wish, Miss Fisher.”


End file.
